


August 26th

by President_Frankenstein



Series: Refried Beans [1]
Category: Camp Lazlo!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Future AU, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 13:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11419281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/President_Frankenstein/pseuds/President_Frankenstein
Summary: August 26th was always an interesting day for Lazlo and Dave. The campers had gone home for the year the day before. Starting now, and for the next three hundred and nine days, they could, (and would,) focus their undivided attention on one another.





	August 26th

August 26th was always an interesting day for Lazlo and Dave. The campers had gone home for the year the day before. Starting now, and for the next three hundred and nine days, they could, (and would,) focus their undivided attention on one another.

Dave was still firmly rolled into his half of the scratchy checkered bedspread when his eyelids instinctively flung open, at the expectation of the dreaded “wake up bugle.”

It didn’t come. He sighed with relief, and was just going to sleep again when his eyes finally focused on the orange and yellow mass in front of them.

Being married to a morning person, especially one on Lazlo’s level, meant that once you were up, you were up. Not that he minded.

Lazlo sat off the side of the bed, elbows buried in the firm mattress, beaming as brightly as ever. Far brighter than most people at six a.m. Behind his head, his tail flicks a little bit, like a dog gearing up for a walk. Gosh, he’s cute. And now, Dave’s wondering how long he’s been sitting there waiting for him to wake up. He feels a bit guilty now.

“Hey,” Lazlo says simply.

“Mrm… mhey,” the scrawny loon replies, not quite awake yet.

“It’s the twenty-sixth,” Lazlo grins, after a beat or so.

“…And a Sunday... right?” Dave cautiously asks, a twinge of hope in his voice.

“Yep.”

Couldn’t be better. That meant no work at the newspaper today, on _August 26th_. The stars had really aligned this time.

“We should do something,” the spider monkey contends, his voice getting slightly louder, and his tail wagging noticeably faster. The swooshing is now audible.

“Like what?” Dave asks, de-burritoing himself and resting his chin in one hand. This position hurts, he remarks to himself.

“Mm, I don’t know… _something,_ ” the spider monkey hums, and Dave flinches as Lazlo lightly pokes the tip of his beak, even knowing that no malice would ever originate from him.

“‘Something’ is a bit general,” Dave suggests, his more literal side kicking in now, “Could it mean ‘sleeping some more’?”

Lazlo, still smiling, closes his eyes, and his tail stops wagging.

“ _If you want_ …” he mumbles. Dave immediately surrenders. The monkey’s really got him wrapped around his finger. If he had an evil bone in his body, he could get Dave to do just about anything, just by stopping his tail and murmuring those three words.

“You’re right, we should seize the day while we can.” 

With a grunt, he tosses the ton-and-a-half bedspread aside, and slips his feet into the waiting slippers below. Now, the theatrical side of him would point at the ceiling and bellow, “Carpe diem!”, but there’s still Lumpus, Jane and Scoutmaster Slinkman on the other side of the walls, and Dave knows better than to wake a seventy-something year old moose with a temper on a Sunday, least of all their former Scoutmaster whose cabin they now share.

Their slippers “scrimp, scrimp scrimp” along the graying, splintery floorboards as they navigate the narrow hallway, somewhat tip-toe down the steep stairs, and they practically sprint into the kitchen, now home free. Dave gets a shock when his socked foot leaves its slipper, and comes into contact with the freezing, _freezing_ checkered tiles. Autumn really was closing in fast.

Lazlo titters slightly at the loon’s expression, and helpfully kicks the slipper back Dave’s way. Dave has to hop over to it and turn about ninety degrees to put his foot back in. Still, it was a lot fewer hops than it would’ve been had Lazlo not gone through with the gesture at all.

Lazlo searches the fridge for the food labelled with their names, as Dave anxiously watches from behind, making sure Lazlo doesn’t lay so much as a fingertip on an item they didn’t stock. Lumpus could be very territorial about his food. It had been him who came up with the whole “Mark What’s Yers, Ya Moochin’ Little Demons” system, (MWYYMLD.)

The monkey settles for a sticky plastic-packaged fruit salad, and the usual banana, not too green, not too brown. Dave’s choice of store brand wheat flakes (without milk, absolutely barbaric,) is a lot less colorful, but Lazlo charitably flings a few hunks of cantaloupe and pineapple into the bowl. Modest Dave tries to block any further donations lest his husband not leave enough for himself, and this quickly develops into a basketball type of game. They try to keep their laughter down, as Dave flinches, and strawberries and banana slices bounce off his palms and into the bowl.

He returns most of it to Lazlo’s bowl, and they eat in relative silence. Then it’s “scrimp, scrimp scrimp” back upstairs, a bit more confidently, to brush their teeth and shower. Lazlo now makes a game of competing for the bathroom mirror over the single sink. They chuckle and gurgle through toothpaste as they jostle. Everything’s a game with Lazlo, and Dave wouldn’t want it any other way.

Lazlo showers first, quick and very conservative with the water, stopping it when he lathers. Dave takes about five minutes longer, although he’s already done washing and is essentially taking a steam bath. He gets lost in thought in here very easily.

The curtain absolutely _bursts_ open, the rings screaming on the rod and the plastic crackling deafeningly.

“SAVE SOME WATER FOR THE FISHES!” Lazlo screams, before collapsing into a fit of laughter. This, coupled with Dave’s girlish shriek, hyperventilating, and own laughter serves to do the unthinkable… wake Lumpus up.

The moose, clad in an ill-fitting plaid robe, and brandishing a swordfish fresh off the wall, storms in, yelling about respecting elders, peace and quiet around here, and other platitudes. Lazlo, giggling up a storm, and Dave, barely clinging to a towel, scream in mock horror, barely holding their laughs in as they make their escape to their bedroom.

The door shuts, and behind it is a commotion of Jane chiding a now thoroughly-cowed Lumpus into letting “the boys” have their fun, while Slinkman picks up the contents of the first aid kit he came running with and dropped all over the hallway.

It was August 26th, alright, and there were still another 309 more mornings like it to come.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for a friend! The other one I started was taking too long, so I thought I'd give them something in the meantime.


End file.
